


Only a Mother Could Lie

by Melody_Williams



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst, Fae & Fairies, Fae Jaskier, I break stuff, Jaskier gets very sad, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, this is why we can’t have nice things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Williams/pseuds/Melody_Williams
Summary: After receiving a strange, foreboding letter, being sent away by his witcher, and now finding himself traveling alone in the world, it may finally be time to return home. What he isn't expecting is to learn things he never knew about his own past.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Only a Mother Could Lie

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a disclosure: I've only played a bit of the third game since it doesn't run very well on my laptop, and somebody decided to check out every single book from the library before I could snatch one. My knowledge, for now, is limited to the Netflix series and hours of reading on the Witcher wiki. 
> 
> aka I make my own canon, and carry the almighty shield of "It's an AU!", if I mess up the lore
> 
> (For real though if I mess up something that obviously isn't due to the AU, let me know- Spelling errors too even, if you want to)
> 
> Some quick warnings for this first chapter too! Geralt yells, Jaskier drinks, and Jaskier has some pretty unhealthy/self blaming thoughts about it, and Jaskier vomits. Plus, Jaskier has some bad family stuff that happened in the past mentioned. Be ready for that, and don't read if it could trigger negative thoughts for you yourself. Self care is important <3

Jaskier could remember it all. Besides his earliest years, of course, but it was all there. So why now.

He remembered who he had been; a son of royalty. He remembered his father always being too busy with business and kingly duties to spend time with young Jaskier and his mother. He remembered how well he had been cared for when he was small, until it suddenly turned one day. And how suddenly his mother began looking down at him with disgust. The mocking of his love for music, the first few times they suddenly began trying to keep him hidden from the public eye as if he was an embarrassment, and finally him fleeing the first opportunity he had to leave the castle at the still young age of fifteen. So why was there a letter addressed to him with his family’s seal on the front now?

He meant to throw it away as soon as the messenger left. He didn’t mean to keep it past the first day, open it the second, and read it daily in the week since then. Despite all that, he still couldn’t understand it. He was surprised they were even acknowledging his existence. He had long expected to be completely disowned by now, if he was being honest.

“...What’s that?” A familiar deep voice asked, jarring Jaskier from his thoughts. He turned around to look at his witcher, mind already thinking of a thousand different lies.

“This? Just a letter from an adoring fan. Seems she _quite_ enjoyed my music.” He said with a false smugness, knowing the letter in his hands being quite the opposite of what he said. He just didn’t want Geralt knowing that. The witcher hummed a familiar “Hm..”, before turning away and leaving Jaskier to his thoughts. The bard glanced back down at the letter, feeling wrong from keeping this from his friend. He couldn’t think about that now, though. There was always later for this sort of thing. They had a dragon to hunt. 

\--------------------------------

Jaskier watched silently, fearing that if he even breathed too loud he would disturb the scene before him. Geralt sat on a rock, staring out at the mountain ranges, unmoving. The Witcher must have been grieving for Borch. That had to be it. Nothing else could explain… this. That didn’t seem to be all, though. Something in Jaskier’s heart told him an unhealthy amount of self-punishment was going on in the witcher’s mind as well. He finally took a deep breath, before stepping forward, solemnly making his way to Geralt’s side to sit.

“You did your best… There's nothing else you could have done.” Jaskier said softly, turning his head to look at the Witcher. Somehow, despite the space between them, he felt too close. He barely had the right to be sitting here on a mountain, much less next to the great Geralt of Rivia, trying to console the monster hunter. And yet… the thought that had crossed his mind a thousand times since he had met the Witcher surfaced again. This time, he had to offer it.

“Look, why don't we leave tomorrow? That is, if you'll give me another chance to prove myself a... worthy travel companion.”

“Hm.”   
  


That was the only noise that left Geralt in response. A simple ‘Hm’ Jaskier had heard more often than the Witcher spoke. But, it felt gentler this time. It wasn’t enough to deter Jaskier from pushing himself closer to the truth.

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while... Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn't it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you... while you can.” Jaskier said thoughtfully, looking out at those same mountains Geralt was. He felt as if he was looking beyond, though, out to the crashing waves, icy rocks, the wind blowing the scent of salty waters and fish from the docks through the air… It all came rushing back so fast. He knew why he wanted to go to the coast. Geralt was friend enough to get to know where he grew up by now, right?

“Composing your next song?” 

Geralt’s gruff words were enough to make Jaskier glance down in shame, realizing how much he had let his thoughts wander. Had he said too much? He glanced over to Geralt, and in a second, felt he both had and wanted to say so much more.

“No, I'm just, uh... Just trying to work out what pleases me.” Jaskier settled for saying. He allowed himself another glance at Geralt, knowing the truth he wanted to confess, but… the Witcher was as unmoving as he was before Jaskier approached. His thoughts suddenly seemed to weigh too heavy, pressing down on him in a way that made him both want to flee and never move again.

Geralt stood up, and walked away from the Bard.

\--------------------------------

“Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?!” Geralt yelled, whipping around to face Jaskier.

“Well, that's not fair-” Jaskier tried, only to be interrupted before he could get a word in.

“The Child Surprise.The djinn! All of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt growled at the bard, before turning away, once again looking out to the mountains. This time, in rage.

Jaskier could only stand quietly, breathing shaky breaths as he stared at his Witcher’s back. The world suddenly felt like it was shattering like glass around them both. He had to blink back tears. He had been so close. So close to telling Geralt everything. Every last detail about who he was, his family, noble status, all of it nearly given over to someone who didn’t give a damn.

“Right, uh…” Jaskier paused, taking another short, quivering breath. “Right, then. I'll- I'll go get the rest of the story from the others.” He said with a half-hearted shrug. He fully intended to leave right then, make his way down the mountain quickly, and never have to speak another word to the witcher. But he couldn’t help himself. He never could stop his own mouth from voicing his thoughts before he could stop it.

“See you around, Geralt.” He muttered softly, watching his witcher’s back only a few seconds longer, before turning away to begin his journey. Despite his words and what he wished would happen, he knew the chances of seeing Geralt again after this were slim. It was a massive world, and they were heading in opposite directions. Especially if what he carried in his bag was what he thought it was.

He made his way back to the camp fast enough, thanking whatever higher power above that Geralt seemed to be taking his sweet time coming down the mountain. He was quick to gather up his bedroll, lute, bag, and any supplies he thought he might need. He paused for a moment, looking down at the pile of things he had gathered. He had to check one last time, to make sure what he had was even real. He took one last deep, trembling breath, telling himself to ‘keep it together’ as he carefully dug through his bag.

It didn’t take him long to pull out the dreaded letter. He took a moment to anxiously look over it, paying extra attention to the broken seal, hating how familiar it was. With shaky hands, he pulled out the paper inside, reading over it for what had to be the fifth time.

> _‘To Julian Alfred Pankratz, wandering heir of Thrumstill, son of King Ellery Finbarr Charlton, greetings._
> 
> _If you have not died in the time since you have left, your presence is requested at your home. It is of an urgent, and sensitive, nature. Even the poor messenger tasked to find you will know no more than said in this letter. It is a family matter. Take time from your frivolous travels and singing to return to us._
> 
> _Consider this carefully - Queen Clodagh Charlton_

\--------------------------------

Jaskier stepped forward into the inn, immediately feeling the warmth wash over him. The days travel back to town, especially now that he was on his own, felt especially cold. Even the heat from the fireplace indoors felt like it couldn’t reach his chilled core. Still, he continued forward, already finding a solution once his eyes noted the bartender. He intended to have a good night, and forget about it all. 

He remembered drinking. He lost track of how many mugs he had sometime after the third one. He remembered singing, somewhat at least. The bits and pieces of his songs being sung amongst the crowd, and the slight soreness in his throat was evidence enough of that. He remembered that only moments ago there has been a gorgeous woman in his arms, and they had been having a delightful conversation about… something.

That was all over. Now, he stumbled he walked, stretching out his arm to lean against the wall for support. The voices of the crowd grew more muffled as he made his way upstairs to the room he rented. The end of a song still lingered in his tongue as he continued, staggering forward with a drunken smile on his face, even as he grew closer to his empty room. He only realized how shaken his hands were as he went to open the door.

He made his way over to his bed and laid down, still feeling that chill in the pit of his stomach. The longer he laid there, the more it seemed to creep up his chest. The more he stayed there unmoving, the more he recognized the ill feeling; dread.

He rolled over suddenly, reaching down to haul his bag off the floor. He fumbled through it for a moment, before pulling out the letter once again. His eyes flicked across the page, reflecting on it over again and again.

Naturally the beginning of the letter had merely been formalities. He could practically hear the biting tone through her words alone. And of course it had been straight to the point, short as ever. No asking how he was, or if his health was good, well wishes, or mentions of missing him. Showed how she really felt about having to send him this. He could- should, even, forget the letter and continue on like he had been all these years. But… could he really?

“Fuck,” he said softly to himself, clutching the letter to his chest. Maybe the wounds were too fresh, and the idea of travelling around, being asked to sing about the one person he definitely did not want to be thinking about right then… the slim chance he may even run into his witcher again, it was too much. He already knew how Geralt felt, seeing him again only to be sent away again would be nothing but pointless pain.

Jaskier let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as he sat up, reaching to stuff the letter back in his bag. He could always start traveling in the same, sort of general direction of his home. Travel across the lands, make it to the coast, take a ship farther north, then go past the mountains. If he somehow ended up not turning around, well… he would have to see.

He laid back on the bed again, beyond ready for rest, but it never came. No matter how long he laid there, he could still feel the warm buzz of ale fogging his mind. And along with it that same freezing dread in the pit of his stomach. He could feel his body growing heavier, as if all desire to move had left him. But despite that, his eyes never shut and his mind never quieted, no matter how much he begged they would.

He considered rolling over onto his side to see if that would help, but he found his stomach, limbs, everything actively disagreed. He tried to think of comforting things, reciting songs and poetry in his head, even boring himself to sleep by counting as high as he could. But nothing worked. He still felt a sinking feeling in his core, and the beginnings of thought trails he definitely did not want to go down sneaking up on him. His efforts, in general, didn’t seem to matter. No matter what fun he had earlier that evening, no matter what songs he sang, no matter how much drinking he had just done to lift his spirits, he was right back where he always was. Alone again, moping. Did anything he ever tried change it? At all?

It made sense though, didn’t it? The fact that he was no longer traveling with Geralt, how his family had made no contact for over twenty years until now. How most people could only give him a single glance before deciding exactly who he was to them, since he really did present himself as a simple, helpless bard. For fuck’s sake, nobody had even bothered to _wake_ him before they left to fight the dragon. And the best of it all, his very voice was the first thing attacked by the damned djinn when Geralt simply asked for peace. It was all adding up. Even at a young age his own mother had grown sick of him, and his father barely even wanted to be there in the first place. All of his friends were gone. He was the only one who was a consistent problem. 

He knew exactly how he behaved. Talkative, which meant he talked people’s ears off until they could no longer stand his annoying presence. A bard, which people didn’t seem all that fond of his music. Not anyone that mattered to him, at least. Enough scathing reviews let him know that. He was a romantic, which meant he spent too much time wooing too many women and men alike, and always almost immediately jumping into a night of passion without care for the fact he would have to leave the next morning. Someone who was constantly getting into trouble and only relied on others to pull his sorry ass out of it.

So, with all that, why wouldn’t Geralt want him gone too? The witcher had expressed countless times how annoyed he was with the bard, acted like it would be better without him there, Geralt even hated his singing like his family had. The man could probably only take so much of him, before being unable to stand his very presence anymore.

He suddenly sat up, still feeling the wooziness from his drinking earlier. He needed to be upright. Laying on his back only made the ever growing feeling of sick dread worse. He needed to be able to think straight without that getting in the way, and figure out to fix what he was doing wrong, if that was even possible. But, the room was spinning around him, continuously reminding him he had done this to himself. There was nothing he could do to change it now. 

He knew he should have kept his mouth shut more often. He always said too much, crossed lines, in general spoke until people got sick of his voice. He could keep his mouth closed. His singing could use more work. More practice, more time spent on the lyrics, making sure the songs were perfect before anything else. He could do that. He could also try and be less of a flirt. He could maybe start owning up to his own responsibilities for once and try to make amends with his family.

But he couldn’t do that, could he?

Every time he could remember trying to make those changes, he knew he failed. He always reverted back to his old ways. Opening his big mouth too much, not putting in enough effort, simply being a pest who’d swing right into some innocent person’s life, force his way in for a bit, and then either leave on his own or be kicked out. It was a cycle by now, and Geralt had been his biggest fuck up.

And of course, right before that whole friendship inevitably came crashing down, that damned letter just happened to come along. Why would they bother inviting him back home? Was it some sort of apology, trying to welcome him back with open arms? Unlikely. Maybe this was really it, and they just had some final business they needed him to handle, so they could officially cut ties for good. Then he would truly be a wandering, nobody bard like he wished for at a young, stupid age.

That was what he got. He got to be alone. He was blessed to travel, and go on great adventures for a little while at least. Before he fucked it all up again. He had pushed his witcher to a breaking point. Geralt had left him too. That’s exactly what had happened. His closest friend, Geralt of fucking Rivia, and left him too. And god that last thought was somehow the most gut wrenching of them all.

He needed to vomit. He only just recognized that, as he finally let out a choked sob. Maybe it was how much he drank, maybe the realizations he was having, maybe the stress of the letter, it didn’t matter. His stomach had seemingly had enough of it all.

He was suddenly leaning over the side of the bed and retching, feeling the contents of his stomach pushing up and out violently. The acidic taste burned his mouth as his body shook uncontrollably. He counted one, two… fuck it, he wasn’t in a state to be counting. All he knew was he was painfully spasming again and again, countlessly to empty the contents of his stomach. But... once it ended, he felt… almost better, in a way? Not by much, in all honesty. That sinking pit of nervous dread was still settled in his stomach, along with a twinge of nausea. But at least it had provided some relief.

After a moment of sitting there curled up on the bed, he finally felt as if he could move. He pushed himself up enough to see the disgusting mess he had expelled onto the floor. He stared down at it for a moment, finding he really wasn’t sure what to do about it. Should he get up and clean it himself? With what, in that case? Should he leave his room and find someone to help him? Fuck, how much of a mess was he right then? He wasn’t even sure he had the energy to even figure it out. All he could do was clumsily haul himself to the center of the bed, practically falling against it.

He really messed up this time, didn't he? He was a disastrous mess that could barely take care of himself, apparently. Someone yells at him once, and he’s vomiting in a random inn he can’t remember the name of, drunk off his ass, wallowing in self-pity. He could always leave the next day, start over, wander around aimlessly and start the cycle all over again, but… he didn’t want to end up back here, like this again. There was only one other option. He needed to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this- The first chapter's a bit of a downer, yeah, but things have to get worse before they can get better. Question is.... is this the worst it can get? Is going home actually a good idea? (We can assume it's not bUT-)
> 
> Don't worry too much, though! I plan on having some lighthearted fun with our bard, because it would be way too taxing for me to write angst too often. Plus, tougher read if that's all I wrote in this story. So you'll be getting some happy stuff soon. (I am a very inconsistent writer, though, so apologies in advance for that.)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you'd like to see me screaming about The Witcher or and fandoms too! @ melody10007


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